


Absolutely Magnificent

by Kateis_Cakeis



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 10:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11034384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateis_Cakeis/pseuds/Kateis_Cakeis
Summary: Will Sherlock ever wake up, or will his EMP consume him, leaving John alone?





	1. Waking Up

Beep.   
Beep.   
Beep.

The constant sound should have lulled a tired John to sleep. His eyes were heavy, the chair had moulded around his figure and his elbow rested on the arm of this chair, his head resting on his hand. Sherlock was all hooked up to a machine. It had been a few days and Sherlock had still not woken up. The surgery had taken a lot out of him. It was a wonder that he was alive at all. He should be dead but he was still clinging on, for some reason. John was puzzled at that. What could possibly keep Sherlock Holmes in the world? Why was he trying? Back in the day, all John would hear is how boring life was. How it was dull but that had cleared up before- Well before Sherlock decided to chuck himself off a building. But John was past that now, because Sherlock had been shot and was lying in that bed defenceless. And who better to guard him than his very own soldier?

The door was pushed open slightly and there was Molly, pretty much asking to be let back in. She had been here earlier but had popped along to the café, ‘course John didn’t go with her. He looked to her and then tore his eyes away. He instead stared at Sherlock. A cry for help? Maybe. Molly cautiously entered the room and closed the door behind her. In her arms, she held two bottles of pop and a packet of crisps.

“I bought you a packet of crisps and a drink...”

John’s eyes darted to the ground, he released his arm and sat up straight. His hands found themselves and his fingers quickly took to fiddling, picking at each other.

“I thought I told you not to,” he argued, “but, I guess I’ll take the crisps.”

“Good...” The concern in her voice was immense. She approached John slowly, pulling a chair from the corner and placing it next to John’s. She sat, and handed him the packet. Cheese and Onion, how lovely. She passed the drink over to him but he rejected it, so she put the two drinks on the ground. “Have you eaten much today?” she asked.

“Eaten? I haven’t eaten since-”

“You need to eat, John. Being like this, isn’t healthy.”

“She’s right. You’re a doctor, John. You know that.” A voice bellowed. Oh, could he not be left alone for one second? His eyes darted up to a figure leaning on the wall opposite. Looking all smug. A hallucination. His very own portable Sherlock, a one his mind had conjured up, a coping mechanism.

John shook his head lightly. “He could die, Molly. I can’t-”

“Be distracted?”

“I want to be here, when he wakes up.”

The hallucination looked to Sherlock. “He’s been through hell; how does he still look good? Look at those curls…”

John glared at the hallucination, his own brain was tormenting him. Like it had done, before. Back when he thought Sherlock was dead. He saw his face everywhere, the hallucination followed him everywhere. On that night, when Sherlock came back, he thought it was just that. An illusion. He had returned to his own torture, he couldn’t lose Sherlock, not now.

“Shut up,” John whispered under his breath.

Molly hardly heard, it was pretty inaudible but she worked it out. “John? Are you ok?”

John’s eyes dropped from the wall. “Yeah. Fine- I’m fine.” He, at long last, opened the packet of crisps but still waited to eat them.

“Have you-”

The door opened again, Lestrade this time. His eyes occupied bags, quite like John. Sleepless nights of the last few days is bound to cause that. He was calm yet agitated and upon walking in, he immediately looked to Sherlock with eyes of worry.

“How’s he doing?”

John blinked slowly. “I don’t know. He should have woken up by now but he hasn’t,” he replied.

“He’ll wake up.”

John took a deep breath in. “Hopefully.”

“Look, I know we’ve already talked to you but, did you see anyone? Anyone at all?”

“Apart from Janine and Magnussen, no. Have you talked to Magnussen? He would have seen the shooter, even Sherlock would have.”

“Not yet. He won’t talk to us. But we’ll make sure we do.”

“Alright…”

“John, we’ll catch whoever did this.”

“Yeah…”

Lestrade hesitantly left the room, getting back to his job. Catching who did it. And who was the shooter again? Ahaha, yes. Mary.

“Mary… Where is she? Shouldn’t she be here? Supporting her husband?” the hallucination wondered. Couldn’t he leave John alone? His mind was running wild with theories, regrets and questions. He gave the hallucination a sharp look.

“What do you keep looking at?” Molly asked.

“Nothing.”

“John? Seriously, are you ok?”

He scoffed, how could she ask that? He swiftly turned his head, to face Molly. “Ok? Sherlock is lying in a hospital bed after being shot and I- couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“I know but, what are you looking at?”

“I was staring at the wall.”

Molly frowned with her eyes. “That wasn’t staring… Are you hallucinating again?”

John’s brow furrowed. “Again?”

“John… I knew you hallucinated Sherlock after he faked his death. You always talked to yourself and I, connected the dots.”

“I still can’t believe you never told me,” he snapped, with bitterness.

“It was a secret, ok?”

“Yeah, if Sherlock’s own best buddy didn’t mourn his death, would anyone have believed he was dead? Your grief was obviously a part of that plan,” the hallucination chimed in, or more John’s brain reached one of many conclusions.

“Yeah… Sorry.”

“It’s alright. So, is that it? You’re hallucinating him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” John replied, in a whisper.

“You know, that seems like a symptom of love.”

John’s left hand began to shake and the crisp packet fell from it, to the ground. He clasped his hand into a fist and picked the packet up with his right. Molly looked to him, sympathetically, knowing she had hit a nerve. A sensitive nerve at that.

“Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“He loves you,” she added.

“No, he can’t.” John’s voice was shaky, brittle.

“Why not?”

“I’m ordinary. That’s not what Sherlock needs, he needs clever.”

Molly laughed, chuckled. “Sherlock doesn’t need clever. He needs you. He values every moment with you. …Ok, before he jumped I knew something was going to happen. He kept staring at you with this sad expression, when you weren’t looking. He didn’t want to leave you, he tried everything he could not to.”

“Come on, John. Look. Look at him. Even I know you love him and I’m inside your head. At Angelo’s, he said that he was flattered by your interest. He’s not a sociopath, you know he isn’t. He’s your petty, dramatic best friend who you love.”

John’s eyesight settled on Sherlock’s closed eyelids. “He still left.”

“I know… But he tried.”

“I devoted my life to him, back then and he never realised.”

“He’s Sherlock. He doesn’t think anyone could love him. Every sign he got from you, he probably rejected.”

“Sherlock? Having a low self-esteem?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“John, you-”

That door, again. Interrupting. As per usual. This time, a different face. Mary. Finally, she was here. She had visited on the first day but apart from that, she had stayed away. For some reason… ‘Course we know why, nobody else does though.

“Only me,” she said as she sneaked around the door. She walked a few paces in and her eyes focused on the crisp packet. “You got him eating then?” she asked Molly.

“He hasn’t touched them yet.”

“I am here,” he said, frustrated.

“Yeah but you won’t answer me.”

John’s eyesight quickly focused on the hallucination which now had a different coloured shirt on, a blue one. It walked circles around Mary, twirling and spinning around her. “She looks tired, could be because you haven’t been home. Or maybe it’s something else… Now, why hasn’t she called? Or texted? She’s been distant, on purpose. That’s suspicious, John. Trust your intuition, they’re not meant to be ignored.” The hallucination stopped, walked back to his wall and waited.

“I might, if you asked.”

She looked to Sherlock but quickly looked away. “How, is he?”

“Suspicious,” the hallucination chirped.

“No idea.”

Molly observed John, watching every look. John took a crisp from the packet and placed it in his mouth, doing everything to avoid conversation.

“I’ve just come to say that the surgery has allowed you a few extra days off. …Anyway, I’ve got to get back to the work. See you later.”

John nodded as he finished off the single crisp. He didn’t even dare to look at Mary, he couldn’t. She slowly backed out and left the room with haste. Confused as to why John was being reserved, he didn’t know, yet.

“What was that about?”

“…I’m not happy in the marriage and, I don’t love her as much as I love Sherlock…”

“Oh, you admit that then?”

“Yes…”

“Mary is acting suspicious, John. Where was she, when Sherlock was shot? You called and texted but she took hours to reply. Her perfume was in Magnussen’s office, you even pointed it out to Sherlock but he ignored you. He didn’t think it could be her but, you think that. You’re smart, I’m your brain, I know you’re smart. Piece it together,” the hallucination said, with confidence.

John gawked at the hallucination. He knew what to do, he knew. “If you thought someone close to you had done something wrong, something illegal… would you report them…?” John asked, his voice seemed to tremble.

“I don’t know. Probably?”

John’s eyes reached the ground again and his hallucination pushed itself away from the wall. “Call Greg. Call him, do it,” the hallucination begged.

John placed the crisps on the table beside him. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and quickly called Lestrade. In a few seconds, he would pick up and John would seal some of Mary’s fate. Or do nothing at all, it may lead to nothing at all. The call went through and there was Lestrade on the other side. Molly was somewhat confused but, was ready to listen in to the conversation.

“Greg. Yeah- Hey. I have an idea- Yeah, who shot Sherlock. It might sound crazy but hear me out. I think it was Mary- Yeah, I know. But, her perfume was in Magnussen’s office. Sherlock dismissed me but, it was her perfume. I know but- You take Sherlock’s word for it when he- Yes, it could be anyone- I know but Mary has been acting suspicious. Yes, I’m saying she shot him. Please, Greg, question her, for me? …She’s just left the hospital. Yeah, thank you, really, thank you.”

“Mary?” Molly questioned.

“Believe me, the evidence stacks up against her.”

“How?”

“It just does,” John snapped.

“Hmm. I’ll be back, just nipping to the loo.”

“Alright.”

John leant forward in his chair, it was much closer to Sherlock’s bed than you would think. Leaning forwards like this, well, he was in touching distance. John raised his left hand from his lap, it shook and trembled. The hallucination stared at him, not sure what he was trying to do. He moved his hand closer and the hallucination suddenly relaxed. John glanced up and it was gone, the illusion was gone. For the first time in these few days, it had left.

John continued, his hand found Sherlock’s and he grasped it. “Please, you bastard. Wake. Up.” He gave Sherlock’s hand a tight squeeze before letting go completely, his hand returning to his lap thereafter.

His eyes screw shut as emotions attempted to overwhelm him. He battled them back, though. He wasn’t going to do this, not here, when so many people were around. His eyes flung open and there was the hallucination, standing at the wall.

“What? Why do you want me?”

“How do I fix this?” he asked, broken.

The hallucination shrugged. “Wait.”

Right there, with his eyes focusing entirely on it, the hallucination disappeared. It disappeared when he was looking straight at it. His own brain was trying to save him, keep him from despair and misery.

“Were you… holding, my hand?”

John faced Sherlock immediately. His eyes wide, red and worn. He was in shock, it was possible he needed a blanket. When he needed him most, somehow, Sherlock was there. Awake.

Sherlock noticed John’s pure shock, he came to realise he had been out for a while. He tried to offer reassurance by giving John a smile before speaking again.

“Were you?”

“Y- Yes…”

Sherlock was mildly surprised, to say the least. “Why…?”

John was in the kind of shock where any question that Sherlock would ask, would receive the truth. “Because- I can’t, lose you.”

“Why? You’ve already replaced me.”

John shook his head, his eyes still partly wide. “No. I could never replace you.”

“But Mary-”

“Shot you. Yeah, I worked that out.”

Sherlock knitted his brow. “How…?”

“She’s been acting suspicious and, her perfume was in the office. Thank you for confirming my theory.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I called Lestrade, he’s probably already caught up with her by now.”

“G- Good…” Sherlock looked full of sympathy and regret. Regret that he hadn’t seen the signs sooner, he felt slow. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not picking up on the signs. When I first met her I deduced she was a liar, I just-”

“You didn’t think she was a killer?”

“Well, that depends, she hasn’t killed me. Did she kill Magnussen?”

“No.”

“Then she might not be a killer.”

“Where you were shot, should have killed you. Let’s not be painting a better picture.”

Sherlock winced in pain as questions ran in his mind. “Why call Lestrade?”

“Why not?”

“She’s your wife, I-”

“She shot you. No one gets let off for that.”

“Why…?”

“You’re not getting this, are you?”

“Getting what?”

John looked deep into Sherlock’s eyes, reaching his soul. “I love you.”

Sherlock’s heart felt like it had stopped or skipped a beat. Had he heard correctly? Yes, those words. He heard those words. Three little words that had changed everything, every little bit of insecurity vanished in that moment, in that second.

“Wh- What?” The only thing he could say, making sure. He had to make sure.

“I love you.”

Sherlock couldn’t even hide the huge smile on his face and that in turn made John smile as well. “I love you too,” he replied quite weakly, he was still so tired.

Sherlock reached out for John. Last time they tried to reach each other, a certain someone was on top of a building. Let’s not, mention that, shall we? Anyhow, Sherlock was reaching out and John reached back. Their hands were being held and their pupils were dilated and their hearts were racing but were completely in sync.

And the door. Molly was finally back from the toilet and she stopped in her tracks as she noticed the sight. The two lovebirds were gazing into each other’s souls. It was almost like they could feel every alternate universe where their love had existed, in that very moment. In the moment when they were free. No one could hold them back now, for they knew the truth and as far as love stories go, that’s all they need. Isn’t it? She smiled and slowly but surely left the room. Knowing that everything was going to be alright, in the end.

John used Sherlock’s hand to pull himself up from the chair, he leant over the bed, released his hand from the hold and cupped Sherlock’s jaw. He took in every millisecond of the moment but the waiting was done. He inched closer and one extra movement lead to his lips meeting Sherlock’s. Their hearts? No longer racing, they were calm and still in sync. Their cheeks and ears flushed, going all red. Their eyes were shut with pleasure, it doesn’t take a genius to know this was love. John slowly parted and both their eyes took time to open. They didn’t want the moment to dissolve but it ended up with them lovingly gazing into each other’s eyes. Smiles followed suit and they needed no words.

The rest of their lives could start here.

With a simple kiss and the purest love confession.

They were free and it didn’t matter what people thought.

They needed each other and that’s all they needed.

Their lives had been intertwined since that first day.

The day when they fell in love.

And what a beautiful love it was.

Absolutely magnificent.


	2. Cluedo

The two were back in 221B, after a week and a bit. It had been plenty of time for Sherlock to truly recuperate. John was in his chair, Sherlock was in his. They had been pulled closer and put at an angle, within true touching distance. They were holding hands across the gap while they held tea in their free hand. Their conversation was warm and their smiles lit up the entire room. Well, the natural light was but, that doesn’t matter, their smiles do though.

“We should get Cluedo out,” John suggested.

“You’re not going to like what I did to the cards.”

John gave Sherlock a somewhat puzzled look.

“What did you do?”

“I added one. The victim can now be the murderer.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “Everything has to be clever.”

“That way, maybe we could write a story of how each murder happened.”

“Playing _and_ writing? That’s productive.”

“Efficiency is important in this world, John. You never know how long you have.”

“And now it’s sad…”

“But still true.”

A frantic Lestrade came in from nowhere, clearly Mrs Hudson let him in. He hesitantly stopped in the middle of the room and rubbed his neck, deeming to calm himself. John and Sherlock broke their hold and sat forward in their chairs, both cupped their mugs and had concerned faces on. As if they were awaiting news.

“So?” John asked, spurring Lestrade on.

“Magnussen talked. He supported your word, Sherlock. Mary has been charged, her trial will be in a few months.”

John let out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank god.”

He looked to Sherlock, his worried face dissolved into a loving one, a reassuring one.

“Who is she?” Sherlock wondered.

“Not Mary Morstan. She was an undercover agent of some sort. However, she went rogue in 2010. She won’t tell us her real identity. What she did say, was a message, for you two. She said, she was a sniper at the pool and that the pregnancy was a trick.”

“…Did you say- she was at the pool?” John questioned, he seemed to be unaffected by the fact that ‘Mary’ being pregnant was a lie.

“Yes. She said that she had a part to play in 2012 as well. To do with Bart's.”

“She’s tormenting us, John. Telling us who she really is. She was a sniper at the pool, trying to kill us. She was a sniper at Bart’s, probably the one trying to kill you.”

“Wait, you said that Moriarty threatened us. I thought-” John said but was quickly interrupted.

“You were in immediate danger. Both of you were.”

“Jesus, Sherlock. Why didn’t you say?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin you and- ‘Mary’. I wanted you to be happy and, and bringing up old situations didn’t work the first time around.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lestrade seemed uncomfortable with the fact that he was still there, like he was intruding on something private. Both John and Sherlock were completely absorbed by each other, to them the rest of the world wasn’t there. So, it didn’t matter that Lestrade was just standing in the middle of the room.

“You’re sorry?” Sherlock wondered, in confusion.

“I never should have trusted her.”

“You couldn’t have known, I didn’t know.”

“I married her because I thought we could never be together. I was trying to move on and then you came back and- we both dropped our guard, didn’t we?”

“We did... John- I really am sorry, for everything I put you through.” “I forgive you, don’t beat yourself up for it.”

“Thank you…”

“Here’s something that’ll cheer you up,” Lestrade cut their little moment short, still seeming awkward. “Because ‘Mary’ was a fake identity, you’re not married John. The Mary Morstan, ‘Mary’ appeared to be posing as, died at the age of eighteen, ten years ago. Death has already split up your marriage. No ugly divorce is needed, it simply never existed.”

“That, makes things easier.”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiled at John, knowing fine well that they were free. “It does.”

Lestrade had a smug smirk on. A nice bet has been running at Scotland Yard for four years, now that betting money was gonna be Lestrade’s as soon as this gets out.

“Well, I have to go. I’ll see you when a baffling case crops up.”

“I’m sure it won’t take long,” John said.

Lestrade nodded and walked out, swiftly. Leaving our boys to be stupidly in love again, without anyone watching. Then again, if 221B is still bugged- Nah, not in my fic mate, they found all the cameras a thousand years ago and rid the flat of them.

“I’m having difficulty working out what happened and what didn’t…” Sherlock declared.

“What?”

“I was in my mind palace from the moment I got shot, to when I woke up. It felt so real, all of it.”

John gazed at Sherlock with the softest expression to ever express. “What happened in that head of yours…?”

“A lot of unrealistic stuff.”

“Start from the beginning?”

“Well, after I prevented myself from dying, I created a reality. It started with some recovery and us setting up a plan for ‘Mary’ to out herself as being the one to shoot me. We treat her as a client and took her case.”

“As if. I don’t want to look at her, never mind actually be in the same room as her.”

“Six months later, on Christmas day, we were all at my parent’s house. You forgave ‘Mary’-”

“Your brain really hates you, doesn’t it?”

“I haven’t got to the worst parts yet.”

“It gets worse than me forgiving ‘Mary’?”

“So much worse…”

“Continue then.”

“We went to Appledore after I drugged everyone via tea and the punch. I took Mycroft’s laptop which had government secrets on it and sold it to Magnussen. In return he would show us the information he had on ‘Mary’ but, the vaults were in his mind palace. I shot him to stop you from going to prison because of my mistakes.”

“Be careful when we handle Magnussen, noted.”

“If working out information can leak into your dreams, that’s what that was.”

“Hmm.”

“I was to be sent away on a six-month mission which would result in my death-”

“Sherlock… All this death and what seems to be self-loathing, are you suicidal? Because dreams, even a mind palace shouldn’t-”

“I was.” Sherlock swallowed a lump in his throat, honesty. My god, honesty. The most brutal kind, admitting you want or wanted to die. “But- not anymore… Not with you, here.”

John smiled through sadness and reached out for Sherlock’s hand. Instantly, they were back to hand holding. It would help, greatly. John needed to support Sherlock through this.

“That’s good… I love you.”

Sherlock smiled softly. “I love you too.”

John took a sip of his tea. “Continue,” he murmured through it.

“But then Moriarty was back somehow. So, my plane was turned around. Then I had what can only be described as a fever dream, a gay one at that. I had overdosed, trying to kill myself before I got to Eastern Europe. The fever dream took place in Victorian London, a lot of things happened. I won’t go into too much detail but I realised- I realised it’s always the two of us. I can’t save the day on my own, I need you.”

“So… It took you almost dying from a gunshot wound, building a reality in your mind palace and having a fever dream in that reality, for you to realise that, _it’s always the two of us. Just the two of us, against the rest of the world_.” John was quick to jump to quotes, and he beamed through them.

Sherlock chortled. “Yes… unfortunately.”

“We’re both repressed idiots...”

“Not anymore.” Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, almost trying to determine this was 100% real.

“Is that it?”

“No, there’s more. It got dark after that. Really… suicidal…”

John looked to Sherlock with eyes of worry. Now he knew that all this time, Sherlock needed him as much as he needed Sherlock. That while he was suicidal, it was evident Sherlock was too. “I don’t know if I- Go on…”

“We solved a case that was like The Six Thatchers, so our old cases started to bleed into the reality. A lot happened and then ‘Mary’ was shot in an aquarium, saving me, because I got too cocky and she died in your arms and you blamed me.”

“That’s… loaded. No wonder you thought some of this was real.”

“It still feels it. Anyway… you pushed me away and I went crazy on drugs. Then things happened and we took on Culverton Smith, is he real?”

“I’ve never heard of him.” John shrugged.

“Well, he was some rich bloke and he took us on a tour and to his favourite room, a morgue. Where I almost stabbed him and then you beat me up, badly enough for me to end up in hospital.”

“Oh, god. When you said dark and- Sherlock… I would never hurt you like that. Never.”

“I know…”

“Is there more?”

“Culverton tried to kill me, you saved me, your new therapist tranquilised you and turned out to be my sister. Then we went to an island where she played with us like lab rats and people died because of it, and she had something to do with Moriarty. According to this reality my dog was actually Victor Trevor. Which is very much not the case, I do not have a sister and I did have a dog. My mind was simply playing tricks on me, annoyingly.”

“Victor Trevor? Who’s he?”

“A _friend_ I had at uni.”

“A friend?”

“It was complicated…”

“Ah, a boyfriend.” A jealous wave washed over John and though he was jealous as all hell, he didn’t feel the need to express it. He had Sherlock now, and no one was going to tear them apart ever again.

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Hm.”

“Jealous.”

“Sorry?”

“Just, deducing you.”

John chuckled. “How often do you do that?”

“All the time, it’s like a reflex. Back when we met The Woman, I deduced you had started to use a new toothbrush and had a date that night, for example.”

“Hah. I hate a date with- Gah. Who was it?”

“The one with the spots?”

“No, no… It was the one with the nose!”

“Ah… That one didn’t last long.”

“No. I got with the boring teacher not long after that.”

“That one didn’t last long either.”

“Ah, well, Sherlock, as I said on my blog, long-term relationships don’t work with this life.”

“Oh, really? Why is that?”

“Because they all knew I was in love with you.” John chuckled and the two leant closer to each other.

“That is a problem. We need to work on your acting skills.”

“Yeah because the doctor, the one with the spots, the one with the nose and the boring teacher all worked it out too quickly.”

Sherlock smirked. “I love how petty we’re both being.”

John laughed. “No, seriously, Sherlock, I don’t remember their names. I only remember how you described them.”

“Well it was Sarah… Uh, and Jeanette. I don’t remember the other two.”

“The nicknames are better.”

“Yeah, more to the point as well.”

“And what point is that?”

“Your shameful taste in women.”

John chuckled even more, it was getting to a proper belly laugh. “And how’s my taste in men?”

“Pretty good, in my honest opinion.”

“Sholto… He was- we were close- it was complicated. …What does that say?”

“Ah, so your taste in men is exactly what I thought it was.”

“And what’s that?”

“Mysterious.”

John was now in a fit of giggles. “Ok, yeah, I’ll give you that one. What I can say about you is, you have a military kink.”

Sherlock gasped. “I do?! I never realised,” he joked, a chuckle followed suit. “How did you work that out?”

“I noticed it over the years…”

“Always thought I hid it well.”

“You can only hide so much.” John giggled again. “We both knew, we both knew back when Irene Adler was around. And that, is funny.”

“Your sense of humour is degrading, John. I found it to be torture.”

“…You started to press your old sociopath routine after that... Why?”

“Moriarty. I didn’t want him thinking you were my pressure point.”

“But he already knew.”

“And he would have killed you, actually killed you if we had been together then.”

“Everything you’ve done since we met, has it all-”

“Been for you? Love at first sight, John. I wasn’t going to let you go.”

“Yet you sat and watched me get married… I’m sorry, it must have been, well, torture.”

“Why do you think I left early?”

“Yeah… I wish you hadn’t, we could have danced. Sure, people would have looked but, you’re the best dancer around.”

“Now that doesn’t matter… We can dance all night if we want, in each other’s arms.” Sherlock smiled at the thought.

“And you call me the romantic.”

“You are the romantic.”

The two were launched into giggling and laughter. Bright and full of happiness. They were having a day off, a week off, maybe a month off. Because, damn, they bloody well needed it. A time where they could just relax with each other. Be who they are. Because dammit! It does matter! It always matters! It’s not about the legend, it’s about who you are not what you are! And I’ll be dammed if I let anyone tell me otherwise! _Mary, you can fuck right off because who John and Sherlock are, does matter. Everything they are, **does matter**._

Anyhow… the two drank their tea and now empty mugs were by their feet. Conversations were still all around and they were blooming enjoying themselves, so good on them.

“Game of Cluedo or, picnic?” Sherlock steered the discussion into what the day would entail.

“A picnic?”

“Pop along to a park and have a nice picnic? It’ll be nice.”

“Alright. A picnic sounds good.” John looked to the kitchen. “Do we have any food?”

“Nope!”

“Cluedo?” John asked, knowing fine well the picnic was off the cards.

“Cluedo,” Sherlock agreed.

The chairs had been pushed out of the way to allow for ample room. The board lay on the rug and all the weapons and characters were in one room. At either side, there was a single ‘Detective’s Notes’ pad. One had writing all over it while the other had simple marks. The paper pouch was in the middle and three cards sat on top. The candlestick, the lounge and what used to be a Professor Plum. Sherlock had acquired a second card and had used a permanent marker to transform Professor Plum into Dr Black, the victim.

Sherlock was lying on the floor, with his legs in the air – swinging back and forth – and his hands propped his head up. John sat with his legs crossed and was resting a notebook on his knee, writing in it.

“Right so, how, how did he-”

“He was highly stressed about the party and swiped up the candlestick. He hit himself in the head with it because of his anger. His hit was so hard that it killed him. Nobody had any idea that he would go off the rails like that.”

“Seems realistic enough.”

“We’ve dealt with less believable cases.”

“Hmm, yes,” John said as he scribbled all that down, adding extra bits of colour with descriptions.

When John dotted the last full stop, he rested the pen on the pad and set it down on the floor. He looked to Sherlock and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you deliberately trying to be cute?”

“Perhaps this is just comfortable.”

“And is it?” Sherlock heaved out a breath and pushed himself up, now he sat cross-legged.

“No. It was getting hard to breathe.”

“Sometimes you’re really silly.” John giggled and shuffled forward. Their knees were touching and that was slightly annoying. It was as if both of them had sudden flashbacks to a certain night. You know what I mean, you know.

John reached up to kiss Sherlock’s cheek which, in turn, made Sherlock blush. It was quite beautiful. Them two, with a board game to their left and a small story to their right. In the middle, we had a romance going. A true one. A one that had been itching to be free for so long and it was free, free to do what it bloody liked.


End file.
